


Gusts Come Around

by displayheartcode



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, F/M, PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 04:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1926828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/displayheartcode/pseuds/displayheartcode
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first time since his tour in Iraq ended, Harry felt somewhat optimistic with his group therapy partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Climbed to the Top

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Modern Day AU Challenge/Competition by Exceed Expectations over on the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenge Forum. I have four chapters already written, and a fifth being slowly plotted. 
> 
> Rating is subject to change.
> 
> I'm also still not JK Rowling. I wasn't even aware that the QWC was happening.

_By the cracks of his skin I climbed to the top_

_I climbed the tree to see the world_

_When the gusts came around to blow me down_

_Held on as tightly as you held onto me_

_Held on as tightly as you held onto me..._

**—To Build a Home, Cinematic Orchestra**

* * *

It was when Hermione was helping me shop was when she told me. Chucking some cans of fruit into my cart, she simply said that she signed me up for some group therapy. If I was able to use my right arm, I would have used that hand to massage the bridge of my nose in annoyance. Instead I awkwardly used my left one. "Really?" I said. "Group therapy? I'm not a nutter, Hermione. I'm already in a private one!"

My best friend merely raised an eyebrow and continued picking food out for me. She turned her back on me and did a wonderful imitation of her mum. "Now, Harry Potter. Lately you've been antisocial—"

"I just got back," I tried to put in, but she skillfully took over. Again. She might as well be my sister, but she could easily doubled as my honorary mother, too.

"Those private therapy sessions are making you into a hermit, and I cannot allow it." She then put some greens in my cart. I wrinkled my nose as I picked it up to read the label. Asparagus. Was she trying to kill me?

"Listen, I don't need—"

Hermione whirled around the spot and held a can of tomato soup dangerously close to my face. "Harry—James—Potter." She punctuated each word with shaking the can closer. "I won't lose my best friend again!"

I flinched at her words. Too little, too late, I was already making a mess of our friendship—one of my few friendships that I've reconnected since my time back. I looked at her light brown eyes and quivering mess of hair. Guilt assaulted me as I remembered that I was one of her few friends, too. "I…sorry…" There was an even lengthier pause. "When's the first meeting?"

* * *

Group therapy was just what I expected to look like: A group of morose people that belonged on Misfit Island.

I sat down in the small, plastic chair with a 'Hello, My Name Is—' sticker on my jumper. I was feeling just as out-place as I shouldn't be. Veterans of all types had the same expressions on their faces, and my sprits were almost lifted. The man in charge, Collin Creevey, was the only one who actually seemed positive by this. He was a small thing with fair hair and a clipboard in one hand. "Is this everyone?" He looked around to read our nametags, and I had to stifle a laugh at some. The bloke on my right with a missing arm wrote his down as 'Snake-Slayer', and the one two chairs down that was "Moony'. Between the two I was just Harry Potter.

"No, sir," someone said in a light, airy voice. Her nametag read 'Loony Lovegood'. Her eyes were bulbous, they almost couldn't be real, and they weren't. She held a white-tipped cane in a hand and rolled it back and forth. "Ginevra Weasley called me to say that she was going to be late. She and Ronald got stuck in traffic."

"Right." Creevey raked a thin hand through his hair. He addressed us all with a sunny disposition and a larger-than-life smile. Maybe it was my imagination, but did his voice also rose in pitch? "Welcome all to group therapy!"

The responses were muttered coughs and half-whispered words. We all mostly stared at the mousy man, daring him to be more optimistic than he should be,

"First off, I would like to say welcome home, as well. It must be great to be back on British soil with the rain. Yes?"

Snake-Slayer raised his only hand, the tips of his fingers were more like nubs, all scarring-pink and hairless. "Aren't you suppose to make us feel better about being back?" That gained some laughs.

Creevey's smile faltered. "Actually, Mr Longbottom, you will also need the help of your partner. You will have Miss Lovegood."

"Partner?" I echoed. "What?"

"So glad that you've asked, Mr Potter," he rounded on me. He took a quick look at his clipboard. "And yours is Miss Weasley." He then turned to each of us and read out whom our partners will be. "The point of your partner," he said, "is to have someone to connect to as you make your adjustments with being back home. Think of them as your best friend and as a sponsor. You will be helping each other throughout the next seven months, and I do expect progress! Now get together with your partner and get to know each other!"

I was soon alone. Wonderful. I hunched over in a slouch that I've perfected during detentions back in my school years, waiting for my partner to arrive. Snake-Slayer Longbottom was immersed with Loony Lovegood. She was telling him that being blind could be useful for her art. Moony was talking with a terribly thin man with hair worst than mine on how his scars itched more under a full moon. More and more I could see people bonding over war stories and hobbies. Watching it all only gave me a further feeling of isolation.

Then a tall man with red hair entered the room. His great height and shoulder width dwarfed the occupant in the wheelchair that he was wheeling. Maybe without being so close to the man she wouldn't seem as little, but she was tiny in comparison. With the same striking hair colour and freckled skin, it was obvious that the two shared blood. Creevey walked over to them and handed her a sticker to write her name on. She ignored whatever her relative was saying and he solemnly watched her as she wheeled on over to me.

Ginevra Weasley (though according to her nametag, I should call her Ginny) glanced at me with her dark eyes. She wasn't that short up front. Her compact body was built out of the muscles that she gained from training. Her arms still carried then, but I could see how thin her legs were now. Her eyes strayed a second longer at my limp arm and snapped to my face. She held out her hand. "Ginny. The hovering stand-in for Mum is Ron. Ignore him and he may leave long enough to grab a bite to eat." I took her hand, noticing the callouses and the rough pads over what used to be soft skin. Ginny gave me a lazy smile and parked her chair. "Tell me, Potter, where were you?"

"Iraq. Special Forces. You?"

"Iraq—worst sunburn ever. Air Force—great sights from up there. Got the worst souvenir, though." She looked down at her legs, her pale toes with bright nail varnish jutted from behind a handmade afghan. "Thank god that it's temporally, or it should be after my next surgery. I should send the bloke who sent my plane down flowers for not killing me."

I found myself smiling at her brash tone and matter-of-face manner. I jerked my head to my left. "Some arse missed my face with a grenade."

"I would hate to be the person who ruined such pretty eyes of yours."

My mouth felt monetarily dry. I looked over her head to see Ron shifting his weight on each food. He didn't carried the strategic and scarred look of a warrior like us, but he bore the caring signs of someone that was deeply concerned for Ginny. Every few seconds he would look back at us, his face in a perpetual state of worry. I recognised the same look from Hermione's face when she thought I wasn't looking. "What's your family like?" I asked.

She also looked over her shoulder and frowned. "A mollycoddling mess that somehow works in harmony." Her accent suddenly shifted to a more country drawl, rolling her words off her tongue. "Oi! Ronnikens! I'll be fine. Go get us some ingredients or something for dinner."

Ron threw his hands up in the air and dramatically left the room.

"Don't get me wrong or anything," Ginny told me as she spoke in her accent. It could be a West Country one, but I would have to hear her speak some more. "I love him to bits, but I need my own space. Next to Mum I probably frightened him the most when I was over there, and now I'm paying for it. What about you? Who sent you here?"

I held a finger up for each response. "Orphan. Best friend. She thought I would eventually go mad and rob a store."

"She should talk to Ron," mused Ginny. "He thought I was going to turn into Great-Aunt Muriel. He swore that I was getting close to be surrounded by cats and a terrible taste in hats."

I gathered from her distaste that dearest Muriel wasn't a high expectation to reach. "Where you from?"

"Devon raised and London moved. I can't exactly help out with this at the farm." She gestured towards her chair with a pinched look. "I live with Ron and help him out with his culinary madness. You?"

"Surrey. Now in London in a flat with Hermione above the bookstore that she works at."

"Hermione?" Ginny tilted her head to the side.

"Friend. She tries to set me up on dates, but they don't end so well," I clarified. "You have anyone special?"

"My opportunities are rather slim." She patted the wheels fondly. "But Arnold keeps all of the asshats away. There are some fascinating stories to be told about that."

"Arnold?" Now it was my turn to be confused.

"The chair," she explained. She undid the brake and swerved to the side to show me the wheel. The outer ring was covered with fluffy pink stickers. "Luna got me these to cheer me up." Her smile was more brittle now, a one that I often saw in my reflection these days.

"Very frightening for a pilot," I teased. "That'll strike fear into anyone, I tell you." My words made her laugh. I can't believe it, I thought. I'm actually happy being here. I should send Hermione books as a thank you.

I looked up at the clock as saw the time. Too little and too late, our time was almost up. "I should give you my number now."

Ginny withdrew a pen and grabbed my working hand. She bent her head, sending strands of her long hair tickling the inside of my wrist. Once finishing writing her number down she handed the pen to me. I did the same to her palm. She raised her head. "Thanks, Harry." Our eyes met and I was frozen momentarily. Words were stuck in my throat as I saw a blush creeped its way past her collarbone and up the column of her neck. A part of my mind rationalised that its been ages since I've felt this comfortable around a woman, and the other part scolded me for being an idiot. Nevertheless I felt sparks when her hand touched mines.

And Creevey broke the bloody spell. "Time's up, everyone!" He then repeated it even louder to gain more attention. "Hey! Guys! Our time is over. Exchange numbers and we will all meet up again next week."

Ron was back and was awkwardly standing next to Ginny. He slouched in a manner that I highly approved. He gave me a curt nod and turned to his sister. "Ready?"

She nodded and gave me a small wave. "Phone me anytime."

"Will do," I promised. I watched them both leave and tendrils of her red hair danced in her wake. I leaned back and rubbed my eyes, hoping that the light-hearted feeling that I had wasn't a trick of my mind. I looked at the number that she scrawled on my palm and I could feel a smile appear on my face.


	2. Where I Don't Feel Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing new to report.

_Out in the garden where we planted the seeds_

_There is a tree as old as me_

_Branches were sewn by the color of green_

_Ground had arose and passed it's knees_

**—Cinematic Orchestra, To Build a Home**

* * *

I woke up later in a cold sweat and my hand curled around my battered mobile. I was still unnerved from the stressing nightmare—a flashing recollection of my time over there. I could only loosen my grip and slowly count down from ten. The mobile dropped to the floor with a clang and I rolled onto my back. My lame arm felt like dead weight next to me, but the memories of fighting sparked a phantom pain. Logically, I knew that arm was as good as dead, but my brain wasn't responding correctly.

My mouth felt dry as my eyes made villains and monsters out of the blurry shadows. An instinctive part of me wanted to go for my weapon, to be ready for a fight. The other part of me was calling me out for trusting anything without my glasses. Scowling, I reached for my bedside table and put my glasses back on. The villains and monsters lurked back into their shadows, giving me a little peace. I lurched my body into an upright position, my weight being rested against the wall. Congratulations, Potter, a snide thought remarked. Soon you'll be interrogating your pillow in no time.

The mobile next to my bed might as well been mocking me. I should call her, but I couldn't. Our previous meeting felt like a fluke because I wasn't good with talking to people. I saved that for Hermione when she's trying to convince my blind date that I'm really sane. But Ginny wasn't like any of those dates; our meeting had proved that. She fought and served like me. The same dementing monsters also followed her.

After a quick bout of wrestling with my conscious, I knelt down to pick up my mobile. I had already programmed her number in and it saved me from a pathetic attempt of remembering it. My thumb hovered over the button, so I closed my eyes, pressed, and held it close to my ear. It didn't take long for Ginny to pick up, and on the third ring I could hear her throaty voice.

"Speed dial for excruciating nightmares. Press one for forgetting, two for kvetching, and three for replacement."

I let out a small laugh, trying to keep it even smaller due to Hermione being asleep in the next room. "Two, please."

"Tell me yours and I'll tell you mines," she said in a low, amused voice. Then embarrassment coloured her Devon-accented words. "Oh, god, was that too much? My filter is usually off at night."

"Join the sodding club," I said. I tucked my knees to under my chin, pivoting so that I could look outside. There wasn't much of a view from my room. A bleak sky covered thickly with clouds and the smog mixing from the earlier rain. It was all greys and glistening darks, and it fitted my mood perfectly. "Don't you just hate it?"

"The lack of filter or everything since we came home?"

"Everything." I forced my eyes to remains open so that the nightmares won't be plastered to the inside of my eyelids. "It doesn't go away."

"There's a phrase that fits our mood," Ginny said. "Life sucks and then you die."

"I thought that you were suppose to be helping me get better?"

"It takes two, Potter—Oh, sod off, Pig!"

Perplexed by the complete shift in attitude, I held the mobile away from my ear and stared at it. Did I heard her correctly? Or did she just called me a pig? "Excuse me?"

"No, sorry. I was talking to my brother's dog. Pig's a pug that is trying to eat my blanket. Bad, dog!" There was the sound of a high-pitched growl and a curse from Ginny's mouth. "He eats everything," she stressed.

"Maybe he can eat the nightmares away?" I tried to joke.

She groaned. "You're worst than Ron. Listen, um, speaking of him, do you like football?"

"Why are you changing the topic?" I argued. I rubbed my temple, trying to figure out where this conversation was heading. I think whiplash was going to be inevitable.

"Ron plays for a local pickup team. We can go and take a nice walk at the park there. Might be better to talk certain things in the daylight."

I looked around my surroundings. Shadows were clumped thickly everywhere, and inside them were my nightmares waiting. A trick that I was taught was to think of something happy, but there wasn't much to go on that for me. A niggling voice that sounded like Hermione's told me to create some. "Which park is it at?"

* * *

"You look cheerful," Hermione looked up from her book. "Is that actually a clean shirt that you're wearing?"

I brushed the crumbs from my toast off and adjusted the collar. It was the only thing in my closet that wasn't wrinkled completely or stained. I was able to do my own laundry; I just lacked the urge at the times to do so. "No need to sound so shocked," I sighed.

Hermione set her book down on the kitchen table, studying me from head to toe. "I like her. Can she also make you do your laundry?"

I stood up and rolled my eyes. "Don't you have a test to study for?" I gestured a hand to her textbook. Law terms were embossed on the impressive cover. I pushed it away from me so that I won't get a headache just by looking at it.

"I can study there."

My head shot up. "What? You hate sports!"

"I don't hate them," she lied. "I just don't enjoy them enthusiastically.

I've had known Hermione since secondary school, and saying that she didn't enjoyed sports enthusiastically was a mild way of putting it. Whenever they had gym she would try to find some excuse either medically ("I can't play dodge ball because my wisdom teeth just got removed today. The pain will be too distracting.") or would shrink away and try to make herself into less of a target. I would often had to be her human shield and it proved to be useful later in years of combat training.

I hopefully thought that with her at the match would spark some realisation that she can stop mollycoddling me. Then I realised myself that pigs would have to fly first. "Whatever you say," I said.

* * *

There was a small predicament when stepping onto the path. Ginny was waiting for me in her wheelchair. My limp arm felt more noticeable when I gazed at how uneven the path was, so I wasn't sure how well she'd be able to move. I had a feeling that with one arm that I wouldn't be able to help much. Still, the Grangers hammered manners into me.

I gestured with my working hand to the handles. "Do you want me to…"

"Nah," said Ginny quickly. The tips of her ears began to match her hair. "I've crossed over rougher terrain than this." She steadied her hands on either wheel and jerked her head. "Come along, Potter."

I smiled and strode up to walk by her side. We were quite at first, walking on the curved pathway. It was mad in a way that encircled the entire field, giving us a view on all parts of the football match. I could see Ginny's brother in midfield, he and his red-clad teammates had the ball and were whooping loudly as they made a score. Hermione was easy to find with her hair acting as a beacon. She would occasionally look up to see the game and then crane her head to find Ginny and I before looking back down at her textbook.

Ginny and I shared an uneasy glance. It was easy to blather on the mobile but now in daylight it seemed very different. Her brash exterior from the first meeting and the mobile call was gone, or more appropriately, it was diminished. I was half-expecting to hear quips or an amusing story about her life pre-enlistment, but the last thing that I was expecting was silence. I cast a shy look in her direction. "So."

"So," Ginny repeated. Her freckled cheeks were beginning to become pink. "Right, this is my idea. I suppose that I should go first." She stopped wheeling next to a park bench and gestured for me to sit down. She parked her chair and folded her hands in her lap, looking away from me. "Do you want to hear the whole story or what?"

I scratched the back of my head, sighing. At the grimace she was now wearing and the hard look in the distance, I could see the version of her that fought. Before I wasn't able to, but now I could see her flying in the air, blazing and even more fierce. "Whatever you feel the most comfortable with," I said.

"Good," she said softly. She turned her gaze back to me. "As long as you also tell me your story."

"That's going to fill several books," I warned.

* * *

We rejoined our friends when the match was over.

I found Hermione clutching her book to her chest, her face pink as her voice rose at a sweaty footballer. His bright head of hair made him recognisable as Ginny's brother, and he, too, was speaking in a loud voice.

Ginny shook her head. "What did my brother do this time?"

"It could also be Hermione's fault, she often has that affect on people," I pointed out, remembering the times whenever she started an argument back in secondary school. I was one of her few friends there, and I would always be proud to be hers. Even if she will one day nag me to my death.

"My brother has Foot-In-Mouth Disorder." Ginny smiled slightly. "He means well."

I tried to understand what Ron and Hermione were arguing about, but I later gave up when she was now resorting to use archaic insults. I think I vaguely recognised a few from English class so many years ago. "Hey," I said loudly. "Who wants tea?" The argument dropped and they turned to look at Ginny and I. "Hi," I said again. "Tea?"

* * *

I was laughing myself to pieces by our second pot of tea.

Gathered around a small table at a pub, Ron turned out to be a very amusing character with plenty of stories to tell. His constant gestures and exaggerations only made the storytelling more animated—especially when he was recounting a childhood tale. Ginny's face had gotten red and she buried her face into her hands. "Shut up, Ronald."

"But it's true!" Her brother continued. "The Valentine was singing—one of those expensive cards that came with some tune, and the poor sod was even more embarrassed."

"I was eleven," she moaned. She raised her head, a dauntless look shown in her eyes. "Shut your gob before I tell them about Lavender."

That had the desired reaction. Ron's mouth became a thin line and the tips of his ears went red. Hermione snorted next to him, shaking her head. "Should I be using that in the future?"

"You have my blessings," Ginny extended a hand to her and bowed slightly in her chair. "I will tell you the whole saga when we get some alone time."

The utterance that came from Ron's mouth was a cross between a groan and a dead man's last breath.

Hermione's smile became rather wicked next. She cradled her hands around her cup, grinning cat-like over the rim. It reminded me too much of her childhood pet, Crookshanks. "And do I also have some tales about Harry here."

My head shot up. "No," I immediately said. "Oh, god, please don't. I'll do the dishes for a week."

Ron gave me a conspiring look. He raised the pot, speaking loudly, "how about something other than idiotic romances, eh?"

"Is your brother usually this subtle?" Hermione whispered to Ginny over the table.

"Yes," she nodded. "But trust me, he grew some tact."

"Ron, Ginny tells me that you cook," I hastily said before Ginny could be told about my failed and embarrassing relationship with Cho Chang. I had never felt to useless in a relationship since her, and it had scared me off of romances for several years.

Hermione's head swerved to look at Ron, her eyebrows raised high. "You do?"

"What?" He patted his lean stomach, disgruntled at her shocked opinion. "Mum made sure that I knew how before moving out. I can do all sorts of stuff now. Cooking is cool—like bow-ties." Satisfied with what he said, he leaned back in his chair and took a large draught out of his tea. "Ginny's my guinea pig for anything new I try."

"Anything you like the most so far?" I asked her.

Ginny rubbed her chin, thinking. "Shepherd's Pie is still in my top five… Bugger, what was that dish you made to impress Bill's fiancée?"


	3. This is Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of a filler chapter and where I thought about changing the rating. 
> 
> There are several references in here. Can you find them all?

_There is a house built out of stone_

_Wooden floors, walls and window sills..._

_Tables and chairs worn by all of the dust..._

_This is a place where I don't feel alone_

_This is a place where I feel at home..._

**—Cinematic Orchestra, To Build a Home**

* * *

Collin Creevey also enjoyed taking bloody photos of us.

Thankfully, he understood the importance of not using certain types of flash photography, but he was hell-bent on capturing every 'happy' moment that we had. "Photos are important," he had said after blinding me. "They help us connect and remember the happier movements in our lives." And then he would go on, citing a research study and some fortune cookie crap about the powers of positive thinking.

I had complained this to Hermione, and she told me to suck it up.

She actually had said it in a more eloquent manner, and she cited some research studies about the power of being positive and how it worked healing the body.

Even Ron had taken her side when I has later complained to him.

"Seriously, mate," he had said in his small kitchen. He was pouring some surgery glaze over fairy cakes. "A class I took at Uni went on about how positivity can help someone get better. They used my baking class to make treats for an experiment."

Traitors. All of them.

I hunched myself behind Ginny's chair when I saw Creevey again. Ginny snorted at my immature attempts of hiding. She raised her head, hiding the rest of me; her long hair fell down to my face. It was distracting hiding from Creevey when next I could only think about was 'Wow, Ginny's hair smells really good."

"Brave Harry Potter," Ginny said in a sing-song voice. "Came out of Iraq with most of his limbs intact, but it's the camera that scares him the most."

"I'm not photogenic," I told her. I raised my head to speak to her better, but all I got was a mouthful of sweet-smelling hair. I spat the red strands out. "Help me, Obi-Wan. You're my only hope."

She wrinkled her nose. "I'm more of a Trekie." She held her hand up in the Vulcan sign. "Live long and prosper." I snorted and made a comment under my breath about how the Force wasn't strong with her. Ginny glared at me and said, "you would be more photogenic if you actually start smiling more often."

"Of course I smile!"

"You don't," a gruffer voice said. I looked up and saw Remus Lupin standing over me with a cup of tea in his hands. "Don't worry, my girlfriend says the same about me."

"Isn't that sweet?" Ginny looked down the back of her chair, her voice cloyingly sweeter than her words. "I'm sure that Mr Lupin has a wonderful smile. Why don't you show Harry, please?"

The older man gave us a weary grin, and it did made the scars on his face looked softer. Right on cue, Creevey appeared with his camera and snapped the Kodak moment of Mr Lupin and Ginny smiling, but I appeared bug-eyed with crooked glasses.

"We should all do toothpaste commercials," I said, blinking away the annoying lights flickering over my vision. I used the (thankfully it was parked) wheelchair to help myself up. "How much time do we have left?"

Mr Lupin looked down at his wrist. I tried not to stare when I saw that his thumb appeared to had been hacked off. "Only a few minutes left. Are you looking forward to the weekend?"

"He and I are helping my brother with a catering event," Ginny said. "Harry's only in it for the free food afterwards."

I was going to argue about that, but Ron's cooking, according to Ginny, was barely seconds to their mother's. Since Ron was very good at his work, I quickly found that I had no room to back myself out when it came to his concoctions. His crêpes were even able to drag Hermione away from cram-studying for her next exam. There was some big social event happening tomorrow that involved some of the higher-ups in society; one had thought that it would be nice to tap into an unknown caterer and she had eventually found Ron.

"I would say that there's more in life than free food…" I sighed heavily and thought back to the treacle tarts that had made last week. Ron promised that he would be making them again for the event tomorrow. "You know," I said. "Your poor brother may need some help tonight, maybe we should leave early…" I looked at Ginny and met her amused gaze. "I'll even smile for a group photo."

She patted my cheek. "That's sweet of you." She ignored me huffing some more bargaining tools and she spoke to Mr Lupin. "What are your exciting plans?"

"Somehow kicking Sirius out of my flat and getting him his own." He pointed his injured thumb at his friend who was posing for Creevey. He dropped his voice to a conspiring whisper. "Dora and I love him very much, but we just want to have a place for ourselves."

"Does he know that you're ready to move on?" I asked. I tried not to imagine some horrible unforeseen future if Hermione wanted to room with some prat, and they would want to kick me out. _That's not going to happen,_ I told myself. _Hermione would sooner kick his arse than terminate our friendship. Right?_

As if sensing my thoughts, I felt Ginny's fingers curled with mines. "We wish you luck," she said. "Maybe you can make it up for him by helping him pick out some lovely curtains?"

* * *

_My breath hitched when Ginny twined her arms around my neck. Her hair moved down her shoulders, strands tickling my nose with its sweet fragrance. She stared boldly and fiercely into my eyes. "Well?" she murmured, and shifted her weight so that her knees were pressed on either side of my hipbones. The closeness created an abiding warmth that's been building up for a while._

_My hands moved up her sides, cupping her upper arms. I tugged her closer and brought my back down on the couch headboard. Her hands moved so that one was tangled in my hair; and that the other was lazily working its way to remove my shirt. "Yes, Ginevra?" My voice sounded throaty and far away from my ears._

_"Don't call me Ginevra," she intoned me. She drew circles with her index finger at the back of my head. "Call me that again, Potter, you rotter, and there'll be hell to pay."_

_"Like what?" I bent my head and kissed the junction of her neck. Her flowery shampoo filled my senses. The freckled curve of her neck was fascinating. Each new showing of bare skin was like a discovery; something that she clearly appreciated when my mouth grazed down her collarbone…_

* * *

_What the…_ I opened my eyes and expected to be crashing on Ginny's couch. I cradled my head in my hands and slowly counted down from ten. _It's just a dream,_ I reminded myself. _Go back to sleep, you idjit._

* * *

_I gasped when her mouth brushed over the scar. Her hair fell down and spilled over my chest. It looked like firelight in the low lights. She kissed the scar again. "How?" she murmured, using her fingers to trace over the injury._

_"Shrapnel," I muttered, more distracted that she was laying on top of me—naked. I tugged at her fingers and brought them up to my forehead. "Here, too."_

_"You're too pretty to die," she said. Her fingers moved alongside the edge of my face, tracing out the contours. I tried to make out her expression, but my glasses were abandoned somewhere around the room._

_"You need to get your eyes checked," I scoffed. I couldn't see what was so attractive about my body. I was a lanky, skinny mess of scars and childhood injuries._

_"Let me show you…" Ginny palmed down my contracting abdomen. "You really have no idea how beautiful you really are, inside and out…"_

* * *

I almost fell out of bed.

I laid there, half dangling off the bed. The sudden shift in momentum threw my thoughts into a loop.

Okay. I was dreaming about Ginny. I had an able-working body, and I was dreaming about blissful and intimate contact with her. Sex was not going to happen because she's my friend. She's Ron little sister. I'm also his friend and Hermione's, but I'm clearly not having dreams about them…

_Bad brain, I scolded. I curled myself into a small ball, ignoring how empty my bed felt. _She's off-limits.__

* * *

_She smelled like crushed grass and flowers. She yanked on my shirt, bringing me down to the earth with her. "Can't get rid of me that easily, can you?" Ginny gave me a smacking, messy kiss._

_I threaded my hands through her hair, and I laughed against her lips. "Why would I?" I met her eyes. "I'll always need you around…"_

* * *

Fuck. I clutched tightly at my sheets, breathing hard.I looked around my dark room, confused by the absence of Ginny. I fought myself from getting back from the throes of the dream, and forced myself to think straight.

Those dreams were never going to happen in real life.

It was something that I had slowly accepted after coming back from Iraq. Sure, I had some mates joking about how some girls found war scars and heroes to be sexy, but that all stopped with the medication with side-effects and my arm.

My stupid fucking useless arm.

The truth that Ginny was going to get better. She was going to walk in the near future. She was going to have an able-working body and move on from her time in the war. I was going to always have a lame arm and haunted by my personal demons. A line came to mind about heroes and their tragedies, and I was only more inclined to disagree that some heroes do get their happy ending.

They're just not me.

I get too lost in past. I get stuck in some pathetic self-made labyrinth and I don't get out. Ginny's not like that, she's more social, more positively—more alive and grounded in the world than I am. Sometimes the hardest thing to do in this world is to live it. She can.

But I don't know how to live it when my choices were always changing.

* * *

I arrived early the next morning with Hermione. We were dressed for the occasion and wore the borrowed outfits from the small company. I was wearing the nice slacks that still felt too big even with the belt, and a starched white dress shirt that felt very itchy. Hermione was wearing some sort of taffeta yellow dress. The more amazing fact besides her straightening her hair was the makeup. The effect was strong on Ron when he opened the door and blurted out what the hell happened to her.

("Honestly, Ronald. Just because I don't bend to what society expects me to look like—"

"Blimey! I'm just tryin' to say that you look nice! Are you wearing heels because you look taller?"

I was never going to ask Ron for any sort of romantic advice.)

While those two were arguing over arranging the appetisers to his car, he told me that Ginny was in her room down the corner. He also warned me to knock first if I didn't wanted to get struck in the face by a pillow or a paperback book.

She was indeed there and told me to come in and help her. She was half-dressed and her wheelchair waiting by her bed. Any details about her room vanished from my mind immediately.

"If you like what you see, then you better say something." Ginny twisted her hair up with one hand and showed her bare back to me. She was sitting on her bed and wearing a golden dress that stopped halfway at her thighs. The gauzy material complimented to richness of her hair and the paleness of her skin. My eyes wandered down her back, unable to say anything expect for some bumbling words.

"I…" I was at a lost for words. My stupid dreams were playing in my mind's eye. I closed my eyes and looked away at the empty hallway. "You look…look nice."

"Always good with the compliments." Her shoulder blades moved when she huffed. "Do you think you can help me with the zipper? It'll be too embarrassing to ask Ron for his help."

I nodded dumbly, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. I awkwardly sat down on her small bed and fumbled with the zipper (it was hard doing it with one hand, but I was getting better at it). Freckles dotted her pale skin and were disappearing when the dress covered them up. I tried not to let my hand linger when I was done. "Slept well?" I asked in her ear. My head had unconsciously levelled down to hers and was closer, too.

"Not bad," Ginny said. "And you?" She let go of her hair and turned around to face me. Eyeliner and mascara sharpened her eyes. A small eyelash was on her cheek. I made a move to brush it away; her face tilted up and her lips parted in a silent word.

But I stopped myself.

Truthfully, I could had done the entire romantic scene, but I was confused. I wasn't even back home for a full year and I was still healing. My feelings for her were new, exciting, and I wasn't ready to jump in yet; and latch myself onto the first person that showed the barest hint of something more than friendship. I could also be reading her all the wrong way and ruin a friendship that I desperately needed. After all, wasn't falling for someone supposed to be slow like falling asleep? This felt so sudden and alert instead.

But, god, the thick part of me wanted to kiss her.

Maybe in some alternate universe I made a cheesy joke about making an eyelash wish, and we would be kissing. I would know what it would feel like to her have lips pressed against mines, and her voice breathily saying my name. Maybe those dreams would even come true in a time when we were both ready.

Maybe I wasn't some nutter who needed to happy but already was.

The happy thoughts slipped away and I was back in my self-made labyrinth of pessimism and negativity.

I leaned away. "We should go help them."

Ginny didn't say anything.


End file.
